


Calm the Storm

by echoist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, pack!love, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks ago, Stiles saved Derek from drowning. It's time he had the chance to return the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm the Storm

“No,” Derek had said, when Stiles stumbled his way down the ladder into the subway station, wearing three layers of flannels and two bags slung over his shoulders. “Absolutely not.”

 “Aw, c'mon man,” Stiles had begged – begged, mind you, because he hadn't been home in two days, couldn't go home, not the way his father had looked at him after losing his badge and where else was he supposed to go? Scott was still grounded and sleeping in the woods sucked, especially with a storm on the way.

 Derek shook his head, eyes beginning to gleam in the semi-darkness. “You're being here compromises the safety of the pack.”

 Stiles bit his lip and looked away. “I've got nowhere else to go,” he said, too low for anyone but a freaking werewolf to hear.

 “How many times have you broken into the high school now?” Derek asked, arms folded across his chest.

 “They put in cameras!” Stiles protested, “I still haven't worked out a way around them yet and hacking into their surveillance system is _impossible_ , believe me, I've tried.” Something in the lines around his eyes, his mouth softened the slant of Derek's shoulders. Stiles was exhausted. Filthy, slightly wet, and more worn down than Derek had ever seen him.

 Erica wormed her way around the Alpha in the train car's doorway, glancing up at him with an unreadable expression. “All right,” Derek caved, lifting up his hands in defeat. “But just for tonight.” Stiles dropped his backpack with the sigh of an old man settling into his favorite chair and stared at the cement.

 “Thank you,” he whispered.

 Derek glanced at his second bag. “Out generator's for power and water, you're not tapping into it to play Gears of Warcraft, or whatever.”

 Stiles shook his head adamantly. “No, no way. It's just for research, you know, just in case. It doesn't have the graphics card I'd need anyway and -” Derek turned around and headed back into the car, rolling his eyes. Erica reached down and picked up Stiles' backpack, tossing it into a pile of blankets and clothes underneath the metal shelter.

 “C'mon in,” she said, inclining her head. “We'll make room for you.”

 

 

When the storm broke over Beacon Hills, really broke, and not just the light sprinkling of rain that usually accompanied a halfhearted peal or two of California thunder, it rattled the underground. Stiles tossed and turned, shivering in a pile of rat-gnawed blankets as the thin metal around him shook down to its tin-can bones. He whimpered, a piteous sound that drew Derek's attention out of a fitful and wary sleep. The pack murmured in their corner, curling tighter around themselves and each other.

 “Stiles,” he whispered, crawling over to the bench the boy had managed to squeeze beneath. Derek shook his shoulder gently. The only response was a hopeless, choking sound and he pulled Stiles out from beneath the sheltering metal by his leg. “Stiles!” he growled, nearly an order. Nearly, but not quite. “Wake up!”

 Stiles flailed awake, clutching wildly at the poles, the air, and finally landing on Derek. His fingers dug into the Alpha's jacket and he gasped for breath, struggling to sit up. Derek's hand supported his back, pulling Stiles roughly against him. “I was drowning,” Stiles spat out, half expecting a mouthful of water to accompany the words. “I was – it was completely – and there was no one there to get me out and I just, I couldn't breathe, but then -” He looked up in surprise, as though noticing his surroundings fully for the first time. “Then you pulled me out.”

 “We're in a storm cellar, you idiot,” Isaac chimed in from the pile across the car. “What did you expect – ow!” Derek turned to issue a fierce growl in their direction, but Erica had already slammed an elbow into his jaw. “Rude,” she muttered, before curling back up in Boyd's lap and closing her eyes, blonde hair streaming across her face like a waterfall.

 Derek rubbed his back in slow, small circles. “You're all right. It's just the rain. This tunnel doesn't flood, I promise.”

 Stiles looked up at him, his head half-cocked. “Are you sure? I mean, how many storms like this do we even get in a year, have you been down here before when -” The harsh crash of thunder shook the car and Stiles ducked, as though looking for cover.

 Derek leaned in closer, his mouth pressed against Stiles' ear. “I'm sure. I know what's safe for my pack.” Stiles nodded, shivering a little at the unexpected contact.

 “I – uh, yeah, I'm sure you. I'm sure you do.” Derek's arm slid around his stomach, and he settled in against the bench, Stiles held firmly in front of him. “Watch the wall,” he said, gesturing through the soot and grease-tinted windows.

 Stiles shuddered a little at first, watching the water pour down the ladder and pool at its base. Water slowly seeped down through cracks in the concrete and spilled into the floor, creating a strange and unexpectedly comforting rhythm before being swallowed up by invisible gaps in the darkness. It drained. The entire station, twelve feet below ground – had been designed to drain water safely away from the cars and any people that might be milling about, or in their case, taking shelter inside. The tension in his body followed slowly, his muscles beginning to unclench one by one, ending in his shoulders. Derek absently rubbed at his neck, teasing out the years of knots his fingers encountered there.

 “You know,” Stiles said dazedly and already half-asleep, leaning back against Derek's chest. “We're kind of, um, we're sort of,” he swallowed, unsure. “Cuddling?” he finished the thought, squeezing his eyes shut against Derek's inevitable reaction. He expected to be batted away, or worse. What Stiles did _not_ expect was for Derek's chin to rest lightly atop his head.

 “You're pack,” he said, simply, moving his hand from Stiles' waist up to his chest. He felt Stiles' heartbeat settle into the slow, heavy sort of pounding that he recognized as unfortunately normal when your name was Stilinski. “I'm sorry I tried to keep you out.”

 “Oh,” Stiles whispered, mouth hanging open. “O-oh, ok. That works.” Stiles tilted his head back, unintentionally giving Derek his neck to draw in the deep, musky scent of him before curling up against his shoulder. Derek stroked his back through the layers of flannel in a slow, even rhythm, matching each breath in and out. Within minutes, a soft series of snores bounced off the thin metal walls and in her sleep, a quiet smile spread across Erica's face. 


End file.
